


Probation

by Transistance



Series: Each Disquieting Instance [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, POV Third Person, Past Violence, Reapers, Shapeshifting, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistance/pseuds/Transistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell Sutcliff has been suspended from work for the murder spree known as the Jack the Ripper incident, and is due to return to the office after a month in the infamous Department of Correction and Rehabilitation. However, there seems to have been a mistake - the stammering, nervous wreck of a young man who arrives is not Grell Sutcliff. He can't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Sutcliff and that Sutcliff

**Author's Note:**

> We've got a nice open empty three months between the end of the Jack the Ripper arc and the Circus arc in which not hide or hair of the reapers were seen. What was happening there, I ask? And then I write a dumb fic with a possible explanation. And wildly hope that the newest musical isn't going to cause half of this to be completely redundant.

“Ah, Senior Spears?”

The reaper in question turned to face his addresser, and found himself looking at a slim young man boasting a face like a kicked puppy. The dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail held in place by an oversized red bow, perfectly round glasses and drab overcoat didn't do much to discourage this observation.

“Can I help you?”

“Sorry, I was told to report to you on arrival... Were you not, um, expecting me?”

William stared down at the man, who looked lost and slightly disappointed. “I don't believe so... I can check for you easily enough, though. What is your name and rank?”

“Ah, Grell Sutcliff, sir. Suspension.”

It took a moment for the words to process fully, and another for the sudden resulting wave of disorientation to pass. William narrowed his eyes and scrutinised the intruder again, going further than his last cursory glance even though it was as clear as day that this man was not Sutcliff. Aside from the more obvious superficial details – the hair, the clothes - he was shorter than Sutcliff; he was skinnier than Sutcliff; he even held himself differently to Sutcliff, standing as though he wanted to take up as little space as possible and shifting his weight slightly from one leg to the other in an anxious sort of way. His eyes were too wide and his teeth were in shape and his facial structure was completely wrong, all long and mournful and full of apologies.

“No you aren't.”

“Y-Yes I am, sir, I think I can be trusted to know my own name at least...” he gave a small, hesitant laugh, and raised his eyebrows in a pleading sort of way. They were, it had to be said, familiar eyebrows – but they were the wrong colour and not as expressive as their red counterparts.

“Give up this charade, please. Grell Sutcliff is one of my direct subordinates and you, however you acquired the information that he was due back today, are not him. So I'll ask again – what is your name and rank?”

The man's eyes widened in distress and he glanced shiftily from side to side as though scanning the area for threats before making a small gesture with one hand; beckoning for William to come closer.

With incredible hesitation he did so, lowering his head to about the same height as the other's but failing to react fast enough to escape when the intruder darted forward to brush William's ear with his lips and hiss vicious confirmation of his identity.

“I'm an _actress_ , Will, dear, never forget. I'd forgotten that you didn't see me at all during my time wearing this form -” he stepped backward and spread his arms wide, his movements reverting fluidly to Sutcliff's rather than the uncertainty that he'd been mimicking before - “What do you think of it?”

William glared at him, utterly bewildered. He had not been expecting Sutcliff to arrive for another few hours at least but had still mentally steeled himself for the disgraced reaper's loud reaffirmed presence in the office, and to be now faced with a small and almost harmless looking version of his usually obnoxious colleague presented an inexplicable problem.

“Why do you look like that?”

“Ah, well...” Grell dropped his arms to his sides and withdrew again, now staring dejectedly at the floor. “The administrators of the Corrective department made some … Rather _strong_ comments about my appearance, and suitability for work, and... Well, they hinted that it would be rather better for everyone if I were to, ah... 'Tone things down' a bit.”

“And you listened to them? The world truly is turning on its head.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I will do whatever I can to ensure that I never set foot in that place again.”

The department of Corrections and Rehabilitation was admittedly not one which William had ever visited, and the speculation and scare stories surrounding it had never painted it as particularly hospitable. But really, what had Sutcliff expected? To saunter back home without comment or consequence after the murder and defilement of unscheduled mortals for no reason other than to stimulate his own sick pleasure? Perhaps a bit more paperwork, perhaps a little overtime.

A month in the Correctional department was nothing. Sutcliff would have been shut away for decades if the office wasn't so short staffed.

As it was, the resulting paperwork had been spread evenly across the other working reapers (clocking a total of 35 hours overtime between them on that account alone) but things had generally run more smoothly in Grell's absence. The office seemed cleaner. More conscientious.

Perhaps if he retained his current form that wouldn't change.

“And how long do you intend to keep up this... Appearance?”

“As long as is necessary, I suppose. But hopefully that won't be too long. I- Oh!”

He dug his hand into a coat pocket and withdrew a letter, its departure causing several other pieces of paper and five pens to follow it out onto the floor. The apologies were hurried and it seemed a long time before he managed to gather the scattered items into a messy bundle in his arms and stand up again, glasses now slightly askew.

“Sorry, sir... I've got a letter for you.”

“Evidently.” He took the offered article and began to open it as Grell carefully put away the other items again, dropping another pen in the process. “Why are you so clumsy all of a sudden? Why exactly are you carrying all of that around on your person? And why-” he paused for a moment to draw out the letter and scan the first few lines (' _To whom it may concern / London Dispatch Administrator'_ ) “- was this sent through you rather than the usual means?”

“I, um... I can't see properly, I'm afraid. I don't know exactly what they did to me but I've been rendered... Well, completely colour-blind.”

He gave a quiet, humourless laugh and gestured to the bow in his hair. “Had to stare at this silly thing for twenty minutes this morning to reassure myself it wasn't blue. Can't see the colour of the sky, or your lovely eyes. Can't see a shade. I'm carrying things around, sir, because I can't access the secondary dimension whatsoever. I don't even know if it's there. And I assume they sent the letter through me as a blatant trustworthiness check.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “What's the verdict?”

_'We are writing, as is presumably obvious, to inform you of the details of the reaper Grell Sutcliff's probation terms and extent, and current temporary work arrangements. If the following rules are not adhered to, please refer any incidents to us directly so that we may review the situation. If this letter bears signs of having been read, edited or in any way disturbed, please file a report._

_Mr Sutcliff has been jump-locked and dimensionally blinded for an unspecified length of time, to prevent him from being able to access the mortal or secondary realms and To Die lists. Whether these conditions are removed from him will depend on the hearing at the end of his primary probation period._

_Unfortunately and as you are no doubt aware, both of these restraints may result in minor adverse side effects such as a lack of balance, dulling of senses and general dampening of mood, amongst others. However, given Mr Sutcliff's current position, these should not present a problem.'_

“They hate you.” William stated, “And I've not even reached your current recommended restraints.”

' _Mr Sutcliff must not be allowed to visit the mortal realm unless accompanied at all times by a trusted supervisor. Mr Sutcliff must not be brought into contact with alcohol, drugs, and at all costs must be totally detached from the possibility of procuring any death scythe. Mr Sutcliff must be housed in the workplace, and may not leave said accommodation unless accompanied by a trusted supervisor. Mr Sutcliff may not change, modify or artificially edit his form from that which he is currently in in any way. Mr Sutcliff is not permitted to enter the Library or other places holding important documentation._

_This sentence shall be reviewed in a minimum of two months, depending on Mr Sutcliff's reported behaviour and activities, and will either be revoked or extended depending on the conclusion reached._

_Routine weekly reports would be appreciated._

_Andreas Sneddon,_

_Head of the Correction and Rehabilitation dept.'_

When he raised his eyes to meet Grell's again, the other man hesitated for a moment before asking, “...How long do I have to do this for?”

“Two months at least.”

His composure cracked suddenly, his mouth turning down to a thin, grievous curve. “Two months? Two _months_?” Grell wailed, eyes wide and pained. “You think I can endure this for _two more_ months? You think I can wear _this_ face for _that_ long, after-”

“You didn't have a problem keeping it up for the last two _years_ , Sutcliff, I'm sure you'll be able t-”

“ _You don't understand_ , I can't – this -”

His words stopped short, as if his airways had been cut, and he gaped for a moment before his expression of faux disappointment reasserted itself. “I can't live with this!” he declared suddenly, staring around as though filled with some dramatic purpose. “There is simply no other way than... To die!”

Silence fell between them. William waited patiently for some further clue as to what the hell was going on in Grell's head.

“I, ah... I don't actually have any means of killing myself, now that I think about it. How embarrassing. Um... I don't suppose you'd mind running me through with your scythe, sir? Just,” - he made a weak stabbing motion - “Run me though. End this tragedy. Please.”

“Absolutely not. Have you any idea how much paperwork that would cause?”

It had been intended as a joke, or at least not to be taken fully to heart, but Grell closed his eyes and sighed. “Do you know, that's almost exactly what Sebastian said? With respect to the differences in your occupations, of course.”

William felt his lip curl in an entirely unconscious display of disapproval. He didn't know what Grell's exact stance was on the demon; it had done its level best to kill the reaper, and wore possibly the slimiest butler guise he had ever seen. But Grell had an affinity for people who were bad for him, and would probably describe them as 'dangerously exciting' or something equally stupid.

“Please refrain from mentioning him here. Speaking about his kind befouls the very air we breathe.”

It was possible that Grell rolled his eyes, but he merely replied, “Of course, sir,” and left it at that. His own butler façade seemed much less keen on conflict than his usual extroverted self.

“Why are you acting like this, Sutcliff? I understand that you need to keep the form, but why the persona?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Did you not study shifting when you were an intern, sir? The mentality is half of what holds the form together. _This_ Grell Sutcliff must remain as separate as possible from _that_ Grell Sutcliff, otherwise the whole thing comes undone with unfortunate ease.”

The words were familiar, but William could remember very little of his more useless classes from so long ago. He had never been apt in anything to do with acting or subterfuge, and had dropped shifting as early as possible. It was not thought of as being a particularly useful skill to have, taking far too long to practice and apply, and nobody had foreseen that it would be used to deceive other reapers. He had the feeling that the coursework would be drastically reviewed following the results of Sutcliff's trial.

“And what exactly makes up the substance of _this_ Grell Sutcliff, may I ask?”

“A-ah... _Deference_ , mostly. And hesitation and distress and an unfortunate ability to mess up the simplest of tasks, which in my defence is not always intentional. A sideline thing for damp theatrical displays tied in with mild depressive bouts, which are unfortunately often closer to reality than they should be. Sir.”

“And you managed to retain this charade for two years? I'm... Impressed, Sutcliff. Or at least I would be if you hadn't used the time to cut up prostitutes.”

“ _Sir_ , please don't bring that up. It's over, finished, I'd rather not dwell on it. It can't be helped now. I'd rather not talk about it at all, if that's okay.”

“...Of course.”

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence, Sutcliff's eyes on the ground again. Maybe its texture fascinated him. Maybe he was trying to figure out what colour it was.

“Have you been made aware of your restrictions?”

“No, not at all.”

He handed the letter over without comment and Grell muttered, “Are you sure you're allowed to show me this, sir?” before taking it and skimming the contents.

“They don't trust me at all, do they... _Dimensionally_ blinded? Okay... The lack of balance might not be that though, this form's pretty clumsy on the best of days... Oh! So I am allowed to visit the mortal realm?”

“Apparently so, within reason.”

“'Housed in the workplace _'_... Oh no _oo_ , not apprentice accommodation?”

“Yes. Should I arrange for someone to retrieve anything from your home and bring it here?”

“Mm... Yes, thank you, sir. That would be very much appreciated.”

“I'll need to assign someone to be your external escort, I think...” he glanced around the corridor, mentally evaluating each hurrying individual. Not him. Not him either. Certainly not him.

“You're on good terms with Ronald Knox, aren't you?”

“He's been my designated junior for quite a while now; we get along famously.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Um...” Sutcliff hesitated, eyes flicking in tiny movements that William recognised as a sign he was counting something, and then muttered guilty, “Ah... Three months ago. I've not had a chance to do much socializing recently, you see.”

Knox had been delegated to Sutcliff five years ago, in the absence of any other available seniors – young, bright and incurably lazy, he much preferred to spend his time flirting with his female colleagues over doing anything productive. William was certain that Grell was a bad influence on him, and had heard the term 'thick as thieves' in description of their relationship more than once.

“Is he not supposed to report to you every week?”

“Ye- _es_ , t _ech_ nically, but the reports don't have to be given face-to-face and we've got a rota worked out and he knows what he's doing, he's a smart kid, sir, and I trust him enough to follow procedures. Still, I'd rather he didn't see me like this... Professional dignity, you know?”

'Professional dignity' was William's metaphorical middle name, and his own had only ever been marred by the presence and work of Grell Sutcliff. He wondered mildly if he should point this out, but was prevented from doing so by Grell catching sight of someone behind him and panicking slightly.

“Ah - there's Ronnie now - please don't-”

“Ronald Knox!” William turned in time to see Knox jump guiltily and glance over, his conversation with one of the General Affairs girls – a Catherine, or Katie, or Christine - having been interrupted. “Come here, please.”

The trepidation colouring the boy's face cleared when he saw Grell, coming to the correct conclusion that he wasn't the one in trouble, and Knox crossed the corridor at his usual unhurried pace. “What's up, sir? Who's this?”

He held out a hand to Grell, who eyed it for a moment before shaking it with a timid smile.

“Grell Sutcliff has returned from his probation, but he requires someone to act as an escort when leaving the office grounds. He's temporarily jump-locked and dimensionally blind, so can't be left alone anywhere. Do you understand?”

“Sure, sir, got it.” Knox nodded to illustrate this, and added happily, “So where is he? D'you want me to give his escort a tour of the place or just a room?”

“No, you misunderstand. This _is_ Grell Sutcliff.”

Blank incomprehension took over Knox's face, freezing it into an uncertain half smile. He glanced between William and Grell as though assuming that there was some bizarre practical joke being played that was about to be sprung on him in a horrific manner resulting in weeks of overtime.

“...No it isn't, sir?”

“Ah, I am, Rona- I mean, Mr Knox. It's just a form. I am who I am.”

He gave another horrible little laugh, and Ronald blinked, taking the same course of action as William had earlier – scrutinizing Sutcliff's form fully, eyes lingering on the red bow in his hair and widening slightly on sight of the ribbon at his throat, almost hidden by the black coat.

“Bloody hell,” the boy whispered. His expression now suggested that he'd witnessed the most twisted, repulsive act of cruelty in this realm, and was trying to find the words to expel it. “Bloody _hell_ ,” he said again, adding, “What did you do to him? What the _hell_ did you _do_ to him??”

Anger had replaced all nervousness in Knox's voice now, backed up with something that could have been fear, and for the first time William worried briefly that Knox would do something rash.

Any further action was prevented by Grell, who put up a calming hand between them and muttered, “Please, Ronald... This isn't Senior Spears' fault. He hasn't laid a hand on me.”

William wondered if it caused him any great emotional pain to restrain himself from making the last comment an innuendo. If it did, he showed no sign of it.

“Then why are you...”

“A m-m... a _month_ in the Corrections department'll do things to the strongest reaper. Don't _worry_ , it's only for another two...” Grell trailed off, looking at William as if expecting support.

“Give him the letter, Sutcliff, that might be easier.”

“Yes, of course...” He fumbled slightly handing the letter over, apologized and shrank back from Ronald's suspicious glance.

Once Knox had read the letter, though, his expression cleared and he looked faintly relieved. “You could've been a lot more obvious about all this, Senpai,” he said, the sudden return of the bounce in his voice causing Grell to flinch. “I thought you were an imposter.”

“I'm sorry if I caused you any confusion... It's forms, see, I need to keep it up.”

Knox gave another enthusiastic nod, and replied, “Yeah, I remember. Mindset and attitude n' all that. Got it. No problem. So... You just need me to hang around with you when you leave the office, and jump you any time you need to go mortal-side?”

“Yes, I believe so... Sir?”

They both turned to look at William, possibly for confirmation, and he nodded. “Yes, that's everything. For both of you, unless you have anything further to say, Sutcliff?”

“Ah... No, sir.”

“Good. Go and reacclimatize yourself with paperwork, then – your desk's the same as it has always been. If you do plan any excursions into the mortal realm, please clear them with me first.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

Grell gave a shallow bow – _where did that come from, nobody does that –_ and retreated, Ronald trailing behind him. The boy was already nattering away to his senior, filling him in on any missed gossip from the month, and Grell nodded along to the words, occasionally letting out a shaky laugh or incredulous “ _Really_?”.

Perhaps the office would not return to the chaos William had expected just yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is so much dialogue and I am sorry for it.


	2. The Intricacies Of a Form

_'Mr Sneddon,_

_This is the report of the third week of Grell Sutcliff's temporary work, as requested._

_There is nothing particularly novel to report. Although Sutcliff has been working to the best of his ability, his continued lack of balance and poor eyesight has led to several minor incidents, none of which appear to have been directly his fault. His prolonged use of the secondary form seems to have caused some severe depression, or similar mindset; he has now made vague attempts on his own life eight times, and doesn't seem likely to stop. These have caused some distress amongst my other subordinates, most notably Sutcliff's designated junior. If I am honest, I’ll admit that I am beginning to question your professional judgement on the matter of his form – it is, after all, the form that he committed the majority of the crimes in, whilst under the persona of Jack the Ripper. It makes it very difficult to judge his emotions or thoughts when he is keeping up a character anyway – I believe it would be nigh impossible to tell if he were displaying any signs of further criminal behaviour._

_He keeps his head down for the most part, as I said, works hard, seems to believe that everyone occupies a position above him in the existential chain. If he is growing tired of doing the same menial tasks every working day he has shown no sign of it, and has actually requested less time off. He has shown no interest in leaving this realm, and has not left the office for anything other than health purposes._

_Any advice that could be given regarding prevention of future suicidal attempts or a reduction on his lack of balance would be appreciated._

_William T. Spears,_

_Primary Administrator of London Dispatch.'_

He sealed the letter, and was in the process of attaching it to a pigeon when someone interrupted him.

“Sir, Senior Sutcliff's crying.”

After a moment of struggle with the bird, William turned to acknowledge Knox. “Crying?”

“In tears, sir.”

“Don't be flippant, Knox. Do you know what set him off? Is he causing any major problems to anyone else?”

“No, sir. He won't talk to me. Says I ' _wouldn't understand_ '. He's just sitting at his desk – most people're ignoring him.”

“I'll be along shortly.”

“Cheers, sir.”

William released the pigeon as he heard the door close, and considered the news. He'd never seen – or even heard of – an event that had resulted in Sutcliff shedding a tear. The man was “an actress”, and also insane – genuine crying would almost certainly be perceived as a weakness, and thus never, ever allowed.

Maybe it was another act. Or maybe the suspension had actually broken him.

He hoped that there was a third explanation, something entirely unproblematic and easy to deal with. Maybe Sutcliff just wanted attention. Maybe his faux personality required an obvious venting of emotions sometimes. Maybe, maybe.

The office was very quiet when he arrived, the loudest sound for once actually being the scratching of pens. One or two low conversations bubbled in the background, but ceased when he passed by.

Not a sound emerged from Grell's room – stupid to call them rooms, really, they were glorified cubicles with open tops and impermanent walls – and he knocked on the thin door before entering.

The reaper was hunched over his desk, face buried in his arms. An occasional quiet sob racked his body, giving the only immediate sign that anything was wrong. William hovered at the door for a moment – this situation was entirely unprecedented, and he had no idea how to _comfort_ people – and then entered, reluctantly. A muffled swear emerged from amongst Grell's arms.

“Piss _off,_ Ronald, I told you I _don't_ want to talk-”

“It's not Ronald, Sutcliff, it's Spears. Why aren't you working?”

Grell's head jerked up, a horrified expression plastered across his blotchy, tear-streaked face. “Wi- _Sir_ , I'm so sorry, I thought- I thought you were Ronald. I'm sorry.”

Gods, he looked a mess. His bow had slipped loose, letting the thin brown hair web over the papers scattered over the desk (piled in an infinitely messier heap than they'd ever been before this). Red-rimmed eyes still full of tears stared pathetically out from behind the currently rather skew-whiff glasses, and William could see, half hidden by one ink stained hand, the final line of writing on a report that had turned into a messy scrawl half way through the word 'complete'. The reaper's handwriting had become almost illegible upon his return, morphing from its previous curvaceous red loops (absolutely not permitted, colour-wise, but at least it was neat) to a scratchy black mess. William had opted to rewrite whole sections of it himself rather than to go to the hassle of pulling Grell up on it.

“Why are you crying?”

The final word hung there, heavy, and for a moment he thought the man wasn't going to answer at all. Then, quietly;

“It... doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand anyway sir, don't worry about it. I'll just- I'll just- I'll just go back to work, it- it...”

William let him falter into silence before speaking again. “Talk to me. It's my job to ensure that you are in the best state to work possible – even if I don't _understand_ your problem, can I not do anything to negate it?”

Their eyes met and in a moment of horrific clarity he realized that he had overstepped, and that the second that Grell Sutcliff returned to his usual self he would latch onto this weakness like a parasite. _Oh no_. “Talk to me, Sutcliff,” he ordered again. No point in backing down now.

To his surprise Grell started crying again, the tears snaking their paths down his face silently now, a damp procession of abject misery.

“There's nothing you can do,” he whispered. “It's all in my head, you see, it's all in my head... B-but... I don't _know, sir_ , I just feel... So bloody, b- _bloody_ useless. _Look_ at this!”

His voice rose suddenly to a distressed high pitch as he gestured wildly towards the paperwork, causing a good deal of it to cascade to the floor. “You can't even _read_ it, can you?” he asked, ignoring the mishap. “ _I_ can't read half of it! I-I can't not be _pathetic_ like this, I've _tried_ to not be pathetic and I _can't_ , I just can't...” he screwed up his eyes, taking a few shaky breaths to stabilize himself. “I'm _sorry_ , sir. But I just f-feel... I should be able to _do_ things, sir, because there's nothing stopping me, but I can't, and I don't- I don't know if I'll ever be able to do things properly again.” He blinked several times, and bit his lip. “I told you, sir... You wouldn't understand.”

He was completely right – the feelings Grell described were alien to William. It was quite alarming, too, to see him in such a state – he seemed to have lost all confidence in himself. _What do I do, what do I do?_

“It's your form, Sutcliff, once you drop it you will be as capable as you were before, I'm sure. You are almost half way though your probation – you can hold up until then, surely?”

“I... Yes, sir.” He pushed one hand behind his glasses and dragged it across his eye as though trying to dry it in the most painful way possible, and then muttered, “There's... Ah... One other thing, sir, if you'd... hear me out.”

“Go ahead.” _Might as well let him get as much off his chest as possible_.

“I... I...” his voice had dropped again to the point that it was almost unintelligible, and he was staring fixedly at the desk. “I... Feel... very... _male_ , sir.”

 _Not the gender issues, please,_ he couldn't deal with Sutcliff's gender issues on top of everything else. Admittedly the man had managed not to say a word on the topic for these past three weeks, which was commendable in itself, and he didn't think that he had ever heard it be condensed to ' _I feel very male_ '... Quite the opposite, in fact.

The situation was clearly more dire than he had thought.

“Go home, Sutcliff.”

“W...what?”

“Go home. Or at least, go back to your current accommodation. You're clearly in no fit state to be working; get some rest. Sleep. Sleep _with_ someone, if that'll make you recover more quickly.”

Grell's mouth had fallen limply open in an almost comical expression of shock – understandable, perhaps – and he just gaped for a few seconds before stammering, “I-I can't, a-actually, sir, not in this form, b-but I... appreciate the sentiment?”

William nodded shortly. “Go.” he repeated.

Shaking his head disbelievingly, Grell stood up. It was a slow, careful movement, as though he were afraid of knocking more from the desk, and he leaned on it for a moment before standing properly.

“I... I'll be back in tomorrow, sir, I-”

“Take tomorrow off. Come back in on Friday.”

He realized he'd overstepped again half a second too late as Grell's eyebrows shot up, his composure shattering once more. “You- You- Y...”

It took the man two paces to close the distance between them and throw his arms around his superior in a very awkward hug, worsened by the slight stumble caused by his lack of balance, and his head slammed painfully against William's shoulder. He had started sobbing again, helplessly, and William had no idea what to do. He settled for patting Sutcliff's back in a way that he hoped would be read as comforting and nothing else.

Grell's body felt small and strangely fragile – whether this was due to his form or completely normal William didn't know, as he didn't usually let him come within a foot at least – but holding him was clearly not helping. If anything he was crying harder now than he had been before.

“Grell.” William disentangled the man and held him loosely by the shoulders, at arms length. “Go. Please.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you... s-so much.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as though trying to say more, then blinked and stepped backwards. The action should have allowed him to disengage and leave with even some minor dignity intact, but unfortunately his shoes clipped against each other and he collapsed backwards into his desk, sending the whole thing crashing onto its side.

Papers drifted serenely to the floor and the contents of a ruined ink pot began to pool across the carpet, staining everything in its path. The two reapers watched it spread until it touched Grell's hand, at which point he stood up and brushed himself off distractedly. He looked again as though he were about to speak, but only sighed, glanced resignedly at the mess and then distantly at William, and left the room without a word.

William watched him stumble down the corridor until out of sight, and then bent to begin gathering up the papers.

//

_It is impossible not to feel empathy for an individual in such a clear state of distress. It is impossible._

William T. Spears felt nothing.

He didn't know if he was supposed to. Sutcliff was on probation, Sutcliff had broken laws, Sutcliff had _murdered_ people. Or... Mortals, at least.

But Sutcliff had been _crying_. Sutcliff had not been _Sutcliff_ for almost a month – the timid, anxious man who had taken his place was very difficult to blame or associate with the crimes of the red reaper. He was small and sad and broken.

Ronald Knox had been upset by the incident. _Did you talk to him, sir? Yes. Did you find out what was wrong with him? Yes. ...What was it? Ask him yourself, Knox, although it is nothing particularly concerning - just stress, I think. ...Cheers, sir._ Nobody else had said anything about it. They presumably cared as little as he did.

He felt that he should care. _It is impossible not to feel empathy for an individual in such a clear state of distress._ He couldn't remember if someone had told him those words or if they were a defensive conclusion reached by his own mind at some point in the past, but they persisted bitterly.

It was Friday already, and Sutcliff was half an hour late. He should feel some concern, perhaps, for the man's well-being. Instead there was only a nagging irritation caused by the knowledge that Sutcliff himself would probably be as, if not more, affected by this further act of failure than the rest of the office if his words on Wednesday had been anything to go by.

The irritation was not helped whatsoever by the arrival of a reply from Corrections.

_'Spears,_

_You would be well advised to keep your personal thoughts to yourself in situations like this. As you have so kindly pointed out, ours is the professional opinion, whereas you are not qualified to do so much as spit on our recommendations. As it is, you are once again displaying a rather worrying concern for Mr Sutcliff – it shouldn't need to be pointed out that his antics and shortcomings are almost certainly a ruse of his own devising. The pity-scrounging and unsettling actions are designed entirely to spread emotional unrest and convince his fellows – and you – of his innocence and harmlessness. This is criminal behaviour enough._

_As for his form, if you really must insist on being given validation on its purpose, please consider this: as the form that he committed the crimes in, wearing it is, coupled with the other restraints on his person, the most likely thing to trigger any further instability or acts of violence. This will allow for a much more obvious view of whether or not Mr Sutcliff is at any risk of snapping again._

_I am sure you agree that it would be greatly preferable for him to break down openly in a secure environment than to be allowed to fester for months or years or decades after he is thought stable and create another situation like this._

_Watch him closely._

_Andreas Sneddon,_

_Head of the Correction and Rehabilitation dept.'_

What an absolute bastard.

The irritation he had been experiencing was gone, drowned out by a rather strong hatred for the letter writer. He had never met Andreas Sneddon, but the arrogance exuded though his words was enough to form an opinion on. Whether the tone or the content of the letter was worse was difficult to say.

 _'...it would be greatly preferable for him to break down openly in a secure environment'._ Would it really? Would it really be better for Sutcliff to flip his lid in the middle of a crowded and unsuspecting office than to vent his frustration on mortals? Either way would almost certainly result in Grell Sutcliff being permanently incapacitated. Possibly killed, if things went badly.

That seemed to be what Sneddon was aiming for. Push a beaten man to his breaking point and see if he reacts. If he does, there you go, a psychopath! If he doesn't, oh well, at least the three months of physical and mental trauma had served some purpose.

 _Sick_ seemed a good word to describe the whole situation. _Inhumane_ , _cruel_ and _unprofessional_ tagged closely behind. Whilst it remained true that William did not feel _sympathy_ for Grell, it was getting harder not to feel disgust at the nature of his punishment.

He _had_ broken, though, on Wednesday. Mr Andreas Sneddon would no doubt dismiss the episode as an act if he were to be told of it, and insist on further precautions being taken when dealing with Sutcliff. But Grell had been genuinely upset. He was... almost sure of that.

It was forty minutes into the work day and Grell Sutcliff wasn't here. There had been a time where he had waltzed into the office almost every day hours late, and there had never been any concern or thought given to that other than the short reprimands. But he had not been more than a minute late for three weeks, and that the lapse would occur right after the first major incident seemed highly unlikely to be coincidental.

Maybe he had slept in, or decided to slather his false face in makeup, or simply couldn't summon the energy to come into work again. Maybe he had escaped. Maybe he was dead.

The fact that apprentice quarters didn't have in-built means of communication was a hindrance, but the fact that the apprentice quarters were only a five minute walk from the main office was a blessing. William left the office quietly, pausing only to tell a secretary where he was going, and strode out of the building.

Left, left, right, sidestreet... It had been a long time since he had had to visit the housing of the younger reapers. Memories of small rooms and dun wallpaper and peers who who had almost been friends surfaced as he approached the old building, but he shook them off upon entering. He was here to check on Sutcliff - who was apparently quartered on the second floor, room 48 - not to reminisce.

The whole place was silent aside from his own footsteps, every apprentice presumably having left almost an hour ago, now. Right, stairs, corridor. Room Fourty four, forty six, forty eight. Stop.

Dead silence.

“Grell Sutcliff?” he called though the door. “I'm coming in.”

There was a _thump_ and a scrabble of movement before a panicked and slightly hoarse, “ _No_ , sir, don-”

William ignored the warning and entered anyway, but stopped short on sight of his colleague. The man was sprawled across the ground in a position that suggested he had tried to grab his overcoat – which was hanging from the back of the single chair in the room – from his bed, and fallen. However, more worryingly, his skin appeared to be melting.

An expression of wordless pain and terror passed over Grell, so far as an expression could fully be formed from a face so damaged, and he made short, jagged movements with one hand to ward William back. Then he curled in on himself, clenching his fists and eyes and teeth as though the entirety of his existence was unbearable.

He was shaking, his mouth twisted wider than should be physically possible, and William realised that the man's teeth were lengthening - reverting to their usual predatory form. His hair quite suddenly took the same course of action, bursting out of his scalp in an explosion of crimson, followed by his facial structure snapping back to its familiar shape with an audible _crack_.

The red reaper stared up at William in clear, mounting horror.

“... _Bugger._ ” said Grell Sutcliff, from his position on the floor.

 


	3. Red Is Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of violence, mutilation, wild sexism, & something that could or could not be regarded as transphobia. Nothing particularly strong, but be warned nonetheless.

“Well, William, delighted as I am that you've gone out of your way to come and visit me, you do seem to have come at a rather unfortunate time.”

Grell sat up, straightened his neck-tie self-consciously, and eyed William with more than a little wariness. “The good news is that you were right, darling,” he added conversationally. “It _was_ my form that made me unbalance yesterday. Needed to renew it. The _bad_ news is that I failed miserably to do so, and you should absolutely not be seeing me like this. Please don't look, or, if you really can't help yourself, please don't comment.”

William met his eyes very deliberately and said, “You look about the same as usual, Sutcliff. Why didn't you renew your form sooner?”

“I... Forgot, actually. I never had to do it when I was butlering for Madame Red – because I was popping in and out of the office quite often, so the form was remade completely every few days – and it just slipped my mind. I only realized that it was breaking down after I got back here yesterday, but I was _exhausted_ and decided to just sleep on it. You woke me up and the useless thing split.”

“It's Friday.”

“...Oh.” Confusion flickered across Grell's features for a moment before he cleared it with a half smile. “I must have entered a sleeping trance, broken only when my handsome prince arrived to kiss me awake!”

“I was doing no such thing. Your lack of presence at the office was anomalous and required investigation.”

“Tch, so cold.” The red reaper rolled his eyes dramatically, and reached over to his coat to root inside a pocket and draw out a comb. “Take a seat, if you're going to stay. No point in cluttering up the doorway like that.”

“Actually, now that I know that everything's in order, I'll go-”

“No _oo_ , Wi-ii _iiiill_ ,” Grell whined, pouting like a spoilt child. “Please stay. This is the only chance I'll have to talk to anyone out of that ghastly persona for _weeks;_ it'll only be, what, twenty minutes? And it'd be helpful if you could tell me when my hair's the right colour, as well.”

“When your-? Oh. The colour blindness.”

“I can't very well come into work with an incomplete form, can I? It'd look silly, and break down faster.”

William hesitated, uncertain of whether Grell was being entirely honest. He didn't want to spend more time than was necessary in his presence, and he knew paperwork was piling up even as they spoke, and Mr Andreas Sneddon, who was after all in charge of Grell's probation, would mark this down as ' _displaying a rather worrying concern for Mr Sutcliff'_ again, if he heard of it.

What exactly was it Sneddon had said? ' _Watch him closely'_? That sounded like an order. An order that could be fulfilled to the letter if William were to stay here instead of, say, leave to send a report to Sneddon. Whether a report would even be required for this incident was debatable – Grell had not consciously done anything wrong, other than to be forgetful. And he was likely to get the form up again faster if he had someone breathing down his neck than if he were left alone.

“Twenty minutes, Sutcliff.”

//

The physical transformation was both fascinating and horrific to watch. Grell did his hair first, brushing it through over and over again, the colour leeching out of it with every stroke. It thinned, too, its weight and length disappearing to some indiscernible place, and it seemed too take forever for the mousey brown ponytail to reappear.

“So _ooo_ o, Will... What you said the other day about _sleeping_ with someone...”

William tensed, recalling the words – _stupid stupid why on_ earth _did I say that_ – and was suddenly very aware of his seating on Sutcliff's bed. Granted the other man was half way across the room and sounded more amused than suggestive, but it was still an inappropriate situation and he felt a sudden inclination to escape it.

“It was a generic statement. It was probably not suitable for the office, though, and I apologize if it caused you any... Concern.”

Grell snorted as he finished tying his hair back. “I'm not sure exactly what you're spouting, dear, but don't worry; it's very cute when you slip up like that.”

“I'm your supervisor, Sutcliff; watch your tongue.”

“We're not in the office at the moment, Will, you're in my _room_. But, alas, I suppose you're right... Here, could you pass my glasses? On the table beside you.”

He stretched out to take them but didn't put them on, instead wiping a cloth over the lenses and pocketing them. “Need to do my face first...” he muttered, as much to himself as to William. The latter found himself wondering if he should take this opportunity to ask a question that would probably benefit nothing outside his own curiosity.

“...What was it like? The Department of Correction and Rehabilitation. If you don't mind talking about it.”

Grell blinked. “What's this, professional curiosity? Friendly concern?” He titled his head slightly and stared into the distance, clearly focused on something beyond the room. “...Well. Quiet, for a start. I think they were glad to get their hands on me for numbers if nothing else. There were only two of us there, barring the staff.”

William found himself frowning. With the budget that that department was given, it was expected to be overflowing with work. Perhaps they'd just had a quiet month. But then again, really, how often was it that reapers went rogue or required disciplinary action of that scale? Smaller issues cropped up all the time, but they were usually dealt with quickly and quietly without enlisting the help of Corrections.

“Who was the second individual?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged, then caught William's eye and relented. “I mean, she didn't tell me her name, and I only saw her once. Small blonde woman. Said she was a techy for the Brighton unit. _She_ recognised _me_ , though, when I told her my name – said, ' _The tranny from London dispatch? We had bets on whether you'd snap or not, in our office_ '.”

“What had she been brought in for?”

“I quote, word for word - ' _Compromising the security of the Shinigami Realm_ '.”

“What?”

“I know, it sounds terrible. I mean, it was ingenious, what she was doing, but it was nowhere near as serious as all that. She was hooking lifts off men, see, getting them to take her on 'dates' to the mortal realm and then going about her own affairs whilst there – her own affairs being the smuggling and selling of reaper technology to humans and the occasional secondary being.” Eyes glittering in something akin to reverence, Grell added, “Made my little spree look like child's play, really. She'd been at it for half a decade before she got caught.”

The red reaper had begun changing his face as his spoke, which seemed to involve moulding his own features with his hands like clay. It was a very gradual business, and he seemed to be paying less attention to it that he should be, often scouring a ridge though his seemingly fluid skin before having to correct the mistake. It was the weirdest thing William had ever seen. Grell kept talking, apparently now invested in the story.

“She'd been in there for a few weeks at least by the time I was incarcerated; our 'rooms' were next door to each other so we could hold conversations. I'm not sure if they put us within speaking distance for a reason or just for neatness' sake. Nothing happened so much for a while – they kept taking me out for 'cold sessions' which involved shutting me in a dark room on my own and 'mentality sessions' which involved one of them talking at me for an hour or so about life and my brain and personal relations and stuff, but aside from that they left us both to stew. But then they took her. Said her incarceration was over but she'd never be allowed to threaten the realm again... They dragged her out – that was when I saw her – to somewhere else and put her back a few hours later.”

A morbid curiosity got the better of William. “What did they do to her?”

He wasn't answered immediately. Grell's hand stopped moving and he frowned slightly, staring blindly at a spot above William's shoulder. “They removed her warp core,” he said, slowly. “Cut it right out of her. They didn't just temporarily disable it like they did mine – they removed it completely.”

All traces of curiosity vanished to make way for pure, undiluted horror. Warp cores were the main physical difference between reapers and humans – they were what allowed the Shinigami to jump freely between realms. Their relative strengths determined how quickly reapers could recharge before being able to jump, and were almost always very weak in females. They could still access secondary planes, but had trouble jumping to the mortal realm. Occasionally a female would turn up who could jump fully once a week, or once a month, but it was rare.

A reaper whose core was removed would die within days, whether they had ever used it or not.

“Isn't that illegal?”

“Oh, yes, very much so.” Grell turned his eyes to the roof and resumed reshaping his face. “But Corrections gets away with little things like that.” He lapsed into silence for a moment and then added, “She screamed and screamed for two days straight, and then just... Stopped. I had no idea if she had been taken away again or died in her cell. Terrified me... I was sure that I was going to get the same treatment.”

The question that rose immediately to his lips was a horrible one, but it left him before he had a chance to think it through. “Why didn't you?”

The other shrugged. “They _said_ it was because her crime was much greater than mine, and she was 'punished accordingly'. It wasn't, though.”

“Wasn't what? A worse crime?”

“No – well, I mean, maybe, yeah, but it wasn't the reason they didn't mutilate me. They let me live because I'm a dispatch agent; one of the better ones, if I do say so myself. Don't contradict that. I'd be missed – we're short staffed as it is. But who's going to miss a low-level tech girl? She was a nothing, a no-one, so they did what they wanted with her.”

“You're jumping to conclusions.” It wasn't exactly what he had meant to say, but it held the same gist. He could hear the edge of Grell's argument being dulled by speculation over facts, and even if he was right it wasn't prudent to make accusations like that. “You have no solid basis for-”

“I can still hear her _screams_ , Will! She screamed the way the whores screamed when I cut them open, but I only really heard it then because I thought I'd be next.” Grell's distress was only exaggerated by his half-changed features, and his voice had risen almost to hysteria. “Do you know _why_ she had been selling us out? In exchange for _medical research_! She was looking into ways of making _jumping_ accessible to _females_! Could've done it, too, she had a head for mechanics and biology, I think. But they murdered her for it.”

What was this, compassion? From Grell Sutcliff, towards another living being? William shook his head. “It wouldn't have worked. Females are incapable-”

“Do they have to be, though? No-one's ever looked into it. No-one's even _tried_. Why do _you_ think _that_ is, Will, darling?”

It was a barbed question. “There's... There would be no benefit to females being able to jump. We need medics, we need people in General Affairs; we need people working-”

Grell cut him off again, rebutting the generic answer with a notably pointed counter-argument. “Why is every leading doctor a male, then, working over a delegation of females? Why are the heads of departments who've never jumped and never needed to jump male? Do you honestly believe that the ability to jump is the only reason? Don't bother trying to answer that, you'll only make yourself look bad. Just _look_ next time you're in the position to do so.”

“...It sounds as though you've thought this through rather extensively.”

The red reaper – although whether he could still be called that with his hair dulled down and a lack of coloured clothes was debatable – shrugged shortly, his emotions now thankfully deflating. “Didn't have much choice; she wouldn't stop talking about it, although I realized she was right.” He paused to shape his nose, effortlessly making it longer and thinner. It was really no wonder that nobody had seen though his disguise, even though he hadn't bothered to change little details like his _name._ “I think she hated me, though – hated my guts. Hated that I have the _nerve_ to call myself female but wear the rights of a man. I mean, she said as much; said I could be whatever the _hell_ I want, but that it meant nothing if I wasn't prepared to suffer it in full. Pointed out that I could “shed my femininity like a snake” if I wanted to.”

He broke off again, a look of mild admiration causing his eyes to shine. “It was quite refreshing, really – people tend to either accept or ignore my gender, they don't fight it out. Too much hassle, I suppose. But anyway. I fully intend to devote slightly more time in the future to ensuring a greater level of equality in the workplace.”

He beamed at his superior, although any effect of decency was ruined by his now disproportionately sharp teeth, which looked incredibly out-of-place in his current face. William wondered if he was fishing for praise or was genuinely proud of himself for this new mindset.

“I have to say, it seems rather ironic that this is coming from someone who is currently on probation for murdering women.”

Grell's smile faltered, then fell away completely. “...Well, you're not wrong, I suppose,” he muttered. “Although in fairness my motivation was not because I _hate_ women, that would be silly.”

It was a clear invitation to ask ' _And what were your motivations, Grell?_ ' but William was fully aware that that would give him a justified opportunity to launch into some dramatic monologue about the nature of life and death and probably the colour red, which he wasn't sure he wanted to bother listening to. Unfortunately Sutcliff decided that no answer was just as good as the question, and fired into the speech anyway.

“ _No_ , my dear William, my motives were far more... Simplistic, than that. On one hand, I was doing it for Angelina, my gorgeous Madam, to see her really fulfil her full mortal potential. But on the other... Well. See, _she_ was killing them to make them _dead_ ; _I_ was helping to make them _beautiful_. There's nothing quite like the sight of something pretty drenched in crimson, is there? I mean,” he caught William's disapproval and tried to amend the situation, plunging blindly onwards, “I mean I know most of you lot were rather shocked at my methods, yes, but surely you can at least appreciate the beauty in the final tragic picture..? I just thought... I just thought that if a mortal could do it, there was no reason why I shouldn't...”

He trailed off helplessly, possibly aware of what he was saying but more likely just opting for the most appropriate course of action based on William's expression.

“A mortal would have hanged for what you did, had they been caught.”

“Yes, but not by _us_. It just seems unfair that they can literally get away with murder and we turn a blind eye, whereas if _I_ put one toe out of line-”

“You did a little more than that, Sutcliff. And their souls are judged accordingly _after_ we reap them.”

“Hmph.” Grell rolled his eyes and flipped his hair back, an action which would have been more effective if he'd had his usual mane instead of the thin ponytail. He adjusted his jawline – jerking it into place with a sharp _click_ – and then asked, “How did you catch me, anyway?”

Even though this question was clearly being asked more to continue the casual conversation than anything else, William was unsure of whether he should answer it fully. Should Grell at any point in the future return to killing, or any other crime that meant he had to avoid the notice of Dispatch – which he had succeeded at anyway for so long – knowing this would be a huge advantage. But... It wouldn't be difficult for him to figure it out anyway, if he put his mind to it. The mistake had been obvious.

“The second-to-last prostitute who was murdered wasn't on the death lists, but because the case was being watched anyway her death was reported, and we found her with her soul having been collected – and filed. This alerted us to the fact that it was a reaper behind the incident, but it was the fact that you failed to reap the last one's soul that gave you away... You didn't cut it at all, it was noticed immediately and I was sent out to collect whomever was responsible.”

“Just like that? Why you?”

“Why- I'm the administrator of our delegation, Grell, who else would they send? And yes ' _just like that_ ', you left the cinematic records completely unchecked. They were rattling off into the sky for anyone to see. Honestly, you should count yourself lucky you didn't draw in demons from miles around.”

“Oh.” Grell blinked, looking surprised. “That's right, hers was on my list, wasn't it? I got distracted by... Well, you saw most of it, didn't you? But really, Seb _as_ tian's presence would keep any other soul-eaters away. They don't like being in each other's space, demons.”

Good point, there had actually been a demon there already. That made things worse. “And what were you thinking, reaping Angelina Dalles right in front of _that_? Even with a contract in place, there is absolutely nothing to stop them from consuming secondary souls whilst on the job.”

“Yes, I know... But as I said, I was distracted. I wasn't thinking quite as clearly as I perhaps should've been...”

“You weren't considering the consequences, you mean.”

“Well, I rarely do; it's more fun to live life in the moment.”

“You almost died.”

His face lit up again suddenly. “But you saved me! At the last minute right enough, but you did save me. Couldn't bear to see me snuffed out, hmm? Or were you simply sticking to orders to capture me alive?”

' _Intercept the criminal with haste. Minimise further casualties, but do not put yourself or bystanders at risk. If you judge the criminal to be liable to harm you, you are given clearance to eliminate the threat by whatever means necessary_.' Those had been the orders issued, and the orders that he had followed to the letter. But he couldn't say that – Grell did not need to know how close he had come to execution. Grell did not need to know that his final murder had lead his superior to believe that he was irreversibly and incurably insane, and certainly, certainly didn't need to know that had the demon not prevented him from leaving as planned he would have taken a scythe through the head.

He had been so close to murdering Grell Sutcliff. It would have been horrifyingly easy. And he was never, ever going to tell that to another living soul.

Some of these thoughts must have translated into his expression, because Sutcliff read his silence like an open book. “You were ordered to kill me?” he asked quietly, as though shocked. Perhaps he was. “ _You_ were _ordered_ to _kill_ me? Will?”

“...Only if you presented a danger.”

Grell was staring at him, eyebrows raised, his near blank expression much closer to that of the butler than the red reaper. “Why... Why didn't you, then?”

“The demon immobilised you. You were no longer a threat.”

“I was _never_ a threat to you, Will! Why would they think that I would hurt you?!”

The state of distress had returned to his voice, loud and upset. William frowned at him.

“You never had any trouble killing those women and then you showed no hesitation in taking out your own accomplice. Why should it have been any different for me?”

Grell's mouth fell open, and he seemed to struggle for a moment to find words to express himself before spitting, “They were _humans!_ You're my own kind, even if I _didn't_ love you personally I would never attack a fellow reaper without provocation!”

William could quite clearly recall standing on Grell's head, throwing him across the street and then dragging him away by the hair, and wondered exactly were the line of ' _provocation_ ' lay. But then again, Grell had been badly injured. It was possible that he didn't remember that particular cruelty at all. “You once attacked me over a very minor disagreement.”

“Are you bringing up the exam again? I was a reckless and thoughtless kid, I'll admit it. But that was a lo _ooo_ ng time ago; it'll never happen again. I'm not a threat to you, or Ronnie, or Alan or Eric or any of them. I _love_ you. All of you.”

“Like you loved Ms Dalles?”

 _Thoughtless_ could be used to describe them both, it seemed, although surprisingly Grell didn't take offence. He just gave a sad, slightly doting smile and said, “Oh darling, you're so naïve. I didn't love her. I... suppose you could say I _coveted_ her. I was besotted with everything about her, from the way she walked to the way she talked to the way she had no problem with the slaughter of her own kind. I couldn't do that. I thought she was everything I've ever aspired to be, everything I wanted in life, right up to the point where she proved herself imperfect.” He broke off with a soft laugh; closed his eyes as though reliving the memories. “ I re _vered_ her.”

As though a dam had been broken Sutcliff's words were suddenly pouring out, lit with a genuine intensity that William had never heard before. “See, _I_ could kill them with no weight on my conscience because I see death every day, I know mortal lives are as fleeting as anything – but she was a doctor! Her job was to save lives, not end them, but she had no trouble doing so. I thought she was heartless, and I loved that. She died protecting a child, exactly what we were killing the whores for not doing, and I... I realized that I'd misread her all along. She was as _human_ as the rest of them. And she chose her brat of a nephew over me, and I just sort of... Snapped. I was finished with her. Cast her aside as though she were defunct, which I understand is hypocritical but she de _serv_ ed it.”

Grell glanced up at him, clearly waiting for a reaction of some sort, but when none was given he carried on with only a minor hesitation. The words he said, though, were as unexpected as the defeated tone they were delivered in.

“...I'm a murderer.”

The statement stood alone and lost for a moment before it was exposited on. “I... never expected to be one, you know? It's not the sort of direction you sit down and decide to take in life. I mean, I've always liked the blood and the drama and the _bravado_ of death – you know that as much as anyone – but I never... _I_ never had any particular desire to be the cause of it. Don't give me that look, it's true! Murders were like theatre; you can watch them, you can enjoy them, but you're only an audience. You don't step on stage. But then I did – and I did it for the actress, not the play. I was never meant to be more than a stage hand. That was good enough – I desecrated them as much as Madam did, I let their beautiful blood pour down my arms and painted the walls like _tapestries._ But I never killed them, their lives never ended by my hand; the Madam always made the fatal stroke. It was her quest, you see, I was just her associate. I never took to the spotlight until she asked me to, but when I did... I found out that it was as easy as if she'd been there anyway. They just... they die so easily, humans.”

It was difficult to tell whether the monologue had some hidden agenda behind it – if it were a misguided attempt to convince William of Grell's innocence it was falling incredibly flat – or if the disgraced reaper actually needed to get his thoughts off his chest. His chest also happened to be where his hands seemed to be headed, prompting William to frown slightly and turn his head. He heard Grell snicker behind him.

“Don't want to watch a woman feel herself up, hmm? What a gentleman.”

“Why do you have to change your body? Nobody will see anything other than your face.”

“You really don't know about forms, do you? _Every_ thing has to be changed, otherwise the bit that isn't is a gaping weak spot and the thing unravels from there. Are you really not going to look at me at all until I'm done?”

“No.”

“That's no way to hold a conversation...” He could hear the smirk in Grell's voice, which was twice as worrying when he couldn't see what Grell was doing. He stared fixedly at the peeling wallpaper and deigned not to answer, and once again to his relief Grell quickly lost interest in the flirting and went back to reminiscing on his experience as the Ripper. His voice had faded to an almost wistful tone, and as far as William could tell he was addressing the air as much as his superior.

“Let me tell you something – it doesn't feel any different. Having killed or not killed. There's no _change_. There should be something, shouldn't there? Guilt, or remorse, or something... But it was so easy. Like filing paperwork. Maybe it's because it was a gradual thing – because I was so used to cutting them open anyway, what difference does another knife stroke make – but now that I've stopped, now that it's not impulsive actions on that...” he paused, and almost certainly shrugged. “I am a _murderer_ now. That's a black mark that'll never come out. But I'm still the same person I was before? I'm the same Grell Sutcliff you graduated alongside; I'm the same Grell Sutcliff who you assigned to mentor Ronald, even though I didn't want to; and I'm the same Grell Sutcliff who decided on a whim to follow in the skirt-trails of a woman in red and became a murderer herself. But it's no different. I'll be sitting in my office once this probation period's out and I'll be no different a person than who I was before.”

William's uncertainty was only furthered by this. “I don't know exactly what you mean, Sutcliff,” he said, although he didn't know whether he wanted to or not either.

Grell sighed. “No, I suppose you don't, my darling. I hope you never do. Really... The charges seem almost lenient, all things considered. Mortals are dead before their time because of me but after two months it'll be like nothing happened.”

“In fairness, you were only penalized for three accounts of murder.” Another fact which probably shouldn't be divulged to the guilty party, but there were no rules against making sure the man knew exactly what he had been convicted of. “The illegal editing of your scythe was more damning in terms of punishments. They were never rebuking the fact that you killed people – they were only mortals.”

The words were cold and entirely true. Very few reapers cared about the fates of mortals at all, William amongst them. It was the amount of pleasure that Grell had taken in mutilating them that he found so disgusting, but the council had gone with more straightforward reasoning behind their anger. “You've been suspended because you broke the _law_ , Grell, not because of the consequences of your actions. They don't care if you feel remorse or not; they are only trying to ensure that you don't do it again. As you said yourself, you did not become a murderer at first – it was step by step. And who is to say that this whole exploit of yours isn't the first step to a spree that kills reapers? The council doesn't trust you, as a dispatch agent or a mentor or a murderer. You've given nothing to trust.”

There was only a shocked silence from Grell's side of the room, and William resisted the temptation to look round. He should probably not have said any of that, and realized that he had likely skewed Grell's morality even further.

“...You're telling me that after all those _lectures_ about the 'weight of lives' and existence they care less than I do??” He was focusing on that? Good. “You're telling me that I might be shut up here more because I made my scythe a chainsaw without telling General Affairs than because I used it to _kill_ people?”

“What did you expect? It's a job.”

“So you keep saying,” Grell muttered angrily. “As if we have much choice.”

“Do you not enjoy being a reaper?”

“No, no, I do... it just... Feels a bit restrictive, sometimes.”

“All paths in life are restrictive in one way or another,” William pointed out mildly, hoping that Sutcliff could gain some perspective. “We have more freedom that most beings. Just because the grass isn't so green in your field does not mean it's likely to be any better elsewhere.”

“That's an... interesting way of looking at things. I suppose I should've expected it of you – you've never complained about your lot in life ever, have you? That's just one of your things.” There was a sigh, and then a dull question. “You'll have me on minimum fieldwork for _ages_ after my suspension, won't you?”

It was a logical conclusion to come to, but incorrect all the same. “Not necessarily. Ironically enough, you were working at your best over the two years you were most absent from the office – everything ran more smoothly with you on full reaping and some of the less capable agents on desk work. If you get reinstated to your previous position and no further problems occur, it's likely that you'll see a lot more scheduled time out of the office, despite everything.”

“Really!? No _way_ will Senior Management let you get away with that.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not immediately. But they value overall efficiency as much as I do.”

Grell made a soft noise of amusement, and then to William's alarm he felt the other man jump onto the bed beside him – _this is what I get for not keeping an eye on him; it's my own fault_ – and he turned sharply to find him far too close. Sutcliff had never been one to champion personal space, but at least at the moment he seemed half civil. His form was completed, and he had donned his round glasses and coat and pulled his expression into the vaguely upset one that he took to wearing as the butler, eyebrows raised and mouth turned down. “H-how do I look, sir?”

“You look fine, except you've forgotten to change your teeth.”

They were possibly even more off-putting in this form than his usual, simply because they were so out of place. Disquiet flickered across Grell's face and he muttered, “Right, sorry, give me a moment.”

He stuck one thumb into the side of his mouth, ignoring the danger posed by his own blade-like teeth, and whisked it across their points in a short and violent motion that should have split his digit, not level the teeth. He repeated the gesture for the lower row, clicked his tongue several times and then asked, “That better?”

“Yes.”

“...Well.” The mask reasserted itself, falling into place so neatly that it was difficult to believe that it had ever broken. “W-we... We should probably head to the office, sir. It's a disgrace that I've missed half the morning already.” He stood up, blinked, and added, “You, ah, you aren't going to report this... incident, are you?”

“What incident?” William stood up, and headed to the door. “You overslept, I came to collect you. You haven't said a word to me – and if you had, I doubt it would have been anything of importance. Come on, Sutcliff.”

“Coming, sir.”

//

William walked Grell back to the office without any particular thought – the objective of him leaving had been to retrieve the reaper, so there was no point in returning without him – but decided that there had definitely been a better way of doing it when, seconds after Grell had wandered away in the direction of his workspace, William was accosted by Ronald Knox.

The younger reaper had raised a hand to get William's attention and was now close enough to address him directly, in his usual careless tone. “Hey, sir. I've been looking for you – didn't realize you'd been out.” His voice dropped to an amused mutter that was clearly meant to be inaudible as he added, “I'll bet you and Sutcliff-senpai had _fun_ together.”

 _Why do you all have to make everything sexual why can't you just think things through before opening your mouth why are all of my subordinates like you?_ He attempted to stare Knox down, or at least to move him to the point of mild discomfort, but Ronald Knox was one of those individuals that took little notice of the opinions of others. His smirk didn't so much as flicker, and William changed tactic.

“Ronald Knox, whilst I have no problem with you and your mentor doing what _ever_ you want in your spare time, I'd appreciate it if you didn't project those expectations out on others. It's unprofessional.”

It was a low blow, but it was effective; more so than had been intended. Knox looked mortified, flushed a deep scarlet and protested, “ _Sir_ , we don't- I've _never_ -”

 _That was cruel, take it back._ “...Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. For your information, Sutcliff's form broke down, and he required assistance in reconstructing it due to his colour-blindness. What did you want to ask me, Knox?”

The young man looked lost for a moment before apparently regaining his train of thought. “I was actually just wondering about the New Year's party.”

“What about it?” London Dispatch held their annual 'party' in the large community hall not far from the office, usually with a seventy percent or so attendance rate. It was mostly seen as an excuse for uninhibited socializing and excessive alcohol consumption against a backdrop of bright lights and head-ache inducing music, and William adhered to social acceptability every year and went along despite the scarce positive points of the ordeal. It happened like clockwork the same year after year, and as far as he was aware nobody had ever questioned any aspect of it.

“I just wanted to know if Grell'll be allowed to come along? I mean, what with his substances ban and everything... He usually really enjoys the parties – and you know what sort of state he's in at the moment; left at home on his own he'd probably slit his wrists or something.”

William wondered whether that was an idle threat or mere speculation on Knox's part, and then decided it didn't matter much either way.

“I can't see any problem with him attending, if he wants to. He's actually likely to be less of a liability than usual like this. Socializing, even in this form, might do him some good.”

Knox's grin returned – it was possible that he was picking up the habit from his mentor – and he said, “Yeah, that's what I thought! I'll have to escort him there and back I suppose... Ach, whatever. I take it you'll be there too, to keep an eye on him?”

“It's likely.”

“Great! Well, I'll see you around, Spears-senpai.”

Dropping the conversation on the foreign honorific, Knox turned on his heel and sauntered off, probably pre-empting the likelihood of being told off for going out of his way to hold a conversation within work hours about something not work related. It was a smart move. William let him go, and returned to his own desk.

The paperwork had tripled whilst he had been away.

 


	4. Assignments and Accusations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, apologies.

To his surprise, two letters arrived the following day with orders out of the norm. The first was from Collections, which was all fine and in order, except that the reaping schedule for the coming month had already been assigned.

 _'William T. Spears',_ it started, which was worrying because it meant they were looking for him specifically and not just the head of this department. ' _We are sorry to inconvenience you, but it has come to our attention that there is a previously unassigned group of souls that must be collected at the end of next month. However, due to unavoidable and unfortunate circumstance, the reaper charged with the collection will have to spend a regrettable amount of time in the mortal realm prior to the set collection date._

_We have the souls listed. There is no problem there. And we have the time and date of death for three of the victims of whatever attack will happen. However we are not yet entirely certain of the location of the deaths, nor their cause of death. This is, as you can no doubt conclude, more than a little problematic. We cannot risk that this information will not be uncovered before the souls must be collected, so rough field work will be necessary one way or another. Given your position we would not usually ask this of you, however due to the current under-staffing issue – added to the detained worker - in your department and the unpredictable nature of this reap you are the only candidate suitable to carry out the task. A temporary manager will be assigned in your place for the duration of your absence, and should any problems occur you will be informed. But no problems are likely to occur._

_The collection date for the batch of souls is February 9 th 1889, but to give you the best chance of recovering them you have been assigned to fieldwork starting January 1st.The souls will appear in your To Die List as appropriate._

_Apologies for this unexpected hassle,_

_Iain Pennock, Collections Overseer.'_

At least Collections were polite. Their offices were only three floors up from the highest dispatch offices, but they always sent letters rather than messengers and were very rarely spoken to face-to-face. This predictably sparked office rumours that the agents of Collections were hideous, or incurably shy, or not reapers at all. They always sent formal, well dressed young representatives to any meetings they were required to attend, though, and William got the feeling that they just preferred not to talk to people when it could be avoided.

The second letter was from Personnel, and was essentially a continuation of the first.

' _Dispatch Manager William T Spears,_

_Collections should have informed you by now that you have been assigned extensive field duty. This is a confirmation of that order, and a request that, as you will be absent on the preferred date, you submit your final report on Grell Sutcliff's behaviour before leaving. The temporary manager who shall be stationed in your place is one Timothy Rutherford, who we are lead to believe you have worked with before. If you could ensure that everything is in order before you go and possibly introduce him to your squad before leaving that would be appreciated, but not a necessity._

_A suggestion has been put forward that, should Grell Sutcliff be released from probation and returned to full duties, he should be given the chance to take a solo reaping immediately, on the night of his restoration. Your thoughts on this would be appreciated, but again, not a necessity._

_To our estimation one senior reaper should be more than enough to deal with your assignment, despite the number of souls to be collected. Should you require further assistance – you shouldn't – request it more than twelve hours before the souls must be collected._

_Thank you for your co-operation,_

_Personnel co-ordinator James Coul'_

And Personnel could always be trusted to relay orders as bluntly as possible. The report was to be expected, that was fine, and he had indeed met Rutherford – the man was a decade or two older than him but on the same tier of management, and often took on temporary management of sectors with an absence. He had a much more relaxed view of rules and regulations than most individuals in positions of authority – possibly why he was never permitted to stay in one place for long – which wouldn't worry William unduly if there hadn't been the 'suggestion'.

Take a solo reaping immediately? Usually an officer just back from suspension would spend a few days on full paperwork, then an assignment with a partner. Of course, Grell would have had two whole months on paperwork by the time he was let out, so it was possible that there would be no problem with it. But it still didn't sit quite right. Given Personnel’s usual conscientious risk assessment, Grell should be given time to acclimatize back into his usual form and routines long before being sent out in the field. Unless, of course, the suggestion had come from someone who was _qualified_ to judge Grell's reformation.

An unexpected reaping of this size, although not exactly unheard of, was still big enough to merit a supervisor taking it. Even if it meant far too long spent in the mortal realm in disagreeable conditions, there was no reason why it should be handled by any of his subordinates over him.

But a task staged to get him out of the office for a month to, say, test Grell's resolve under more lenient direction would be completely unforgivable.

He had no doubt that the souls were legit, admittedly. A scam that large would not go undetected by Collections. But as for the circumstance...

_'Sneddon,_

_You orchestrated this incident, didn't you? You have taken your twisted methods one step further to attempt to cause Sutcliff's condition to become unstable. I won't pretend to understand your logic or motives behind this, but rest assured that if anything unfavourable does occur I shall see to it that you are removed from your post._

_Spears.'_

He sent the letter off without full consideration, and regretted it moments later. Firing accusations at equal or possibly higher ranking officials in charge of other departments was never a particularly good idea, especially without any sort of proof, and given Sneddon's apparent antagonism toward the whole affair it seemed likely that he would deem it appropriate to mete out some form of retribution. But sending a secondary letter with apologies would show weakness.

What a mess.

After a moment's thought he wrote out two generic replies to Collections and Personnel, thanking them for the notification and agreeing to take on the field work, and had just begun to put together the report on Grell's behaviour when Sneddon's reply arrived.

The reason for its speed became clear when he read it – short and informal, it only said:

_'I have no idea what you are accusing me of. However... When the cat is away, the mice will play, haven't you heard? :) '_

William stared at the words. He wasn't certain which part of the message was most worrying – the underlying meaning, the use of a direct metaphor, or the scrawled symbol representing a face at the end. Very unprofessional. Mildly unsettling. He could only hope that it was an intimidation tactic and not a warning sign that the head of Corrections had for some reason flipped his lid and left the soothing arms of sanity behind him.

It was almost certainly the former. Of course.

Not that it mattered much either way: the letter proved his suspicions of foul play correct, and he found himself seething that he could do nothing about it. Grell was volatile at the best of times, and as much as he hated to admit it Sneddon was probably correct – given free reign there was no telling what he would do, even under the rules of the suspension. And then there was the solo reap, just in case the unpredictable worker kept his head. Set him out amongst mortals the moment his flamboyant theatrics and unapologetic blood-lust had been regained. It was madness, utter madness, and he could do nothing to stop it.

The urge to stand up and simply upturn his desk to attempt to relieve some of the anger was fairly strong. The urge to go out and yell at his subordinates was also rather insistent. William quashed them both and considered the issue as a whole.

He was going to be out of the office for one month. That much was set in stone. And Sneddon thought that Sutcliff would break before that time was out – and this, William decided suddenly, was absolutely not going to happen. Not if he had anything to say about it, which he did. The man was perverse, true, but convincing him (if he didn't know already) that there were good reasons to remain stable until the probation period was over shouldn't be hard. It could probably be achieved, for instance, through showing him how much someone wanted him to fail. He'd stay sane out of spite.

When exactly he would have the chance to explain this to Sutcliff was another matter. It was the 27th already; William had few days remaining before he would be out in the mortal realm. It wouldn't do to interrupt Grell during work hours for something like this. But socializing with him _out_ of work hours was always so much worse, and carried misconceptions like germs. Having to socialize with Sutcliff out of hours was the ultimate punishment for whatever sins he had committed in life so far, and he would avoid it by all means possible.

He had written three pages of the due behaviour report – which could not exactly be called glowing, but was certainly more positive than anything he had ever written about Grell before – when the simple answer came to him. Obvious, really. Should have been the immediate option.

Ronald was going to drag Grell to the party on New Year, whether he wanted to attend or not. Grell would be sober – probably the only sober individual there, in all honesty – and as willing to talk as usual. William would not have to hound after him in or technically out of work hours, and was very unlikely to be completely sober himself, which would make the encounter easier for both of them. Good.

This plan was flawless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have just realized that the department I've dubbed 'Collections' should be 'Administration', and about fifty percent of the times I've said 'Dispatch' I've meant 'Collections'. gdi fml ect. Can I be bothered correcting it? No, because I am awful. Further apologies.


	5. The Obligatory Mess of Alcohol and Noise

There was an old office mythos amongst the workers at the London Dispatch that once upon a time, way, way back in the distant past – when reapers had first been created, in fact – the annual office party had been a quiet, stately affair, conducted with order and grace. It was said that there had been violins.

There were no violins now. Blaring techno music seemed to be the in thing, no doubt courtesy of some younger reaper with a head for wiring sound systems, although no concrete blame had been cast for it yet. Someone – the same individual or another – had found the time to install a lighting system that strobed and tended to induce blinding headaches if one was exposed to them for more than an hour straight. This had been the case for several years now, and if anyone had tried to revoke it their results did not show.

Grell was sitting alone in a quiet – or at least as quiet as one could find, given the circumstances - corner when William approached him, nursing a glass of what looked like tonic water. The party was exactly as loud and horrible as the latter had expected it to be, and his head felt like it was pulsating. He wished that he wasn't aware of the fact that his gait was unbalanced already as he threw himself down into a chair opposite his colleague, causing said colleague to look up at him, slightly surprised, his eyebrows raised and mouth down-turned.

“You look completely plastered, Wi- I mean, sir. Are... Are you alright?”

 _Fantastic._ The conversation was clearly off to a good start with an opening like that. “Not plastered, not yet, just... Mildly intoxicated. And watch your tongue, I'm your boss.”

He'd had a reason for being here. He was almost certain he'd had a reason for being here. Turning up to a party with the sole aim of getting drunk was unproductive and useless and not something he would do, so there had to be some basis behind this decision.

Grell started talking again and his train of thought slipped away.

“Haven't seen you so drunk since... Last year's party, I think. You were completely out of it then.”

“I wasn't that bad!” he protested immediately. It was an outright lie.

“Your hangover was so bad you fell asleep at your desk, sir, and had to do six hours overtime the next day.” As if he didn't remember that. It had been painful and humiliating. Retaliation for mentioning it was clearly necessary.

“At least I controlled myself at the party itself. I'd be _glad_ to forget some of the stuff I saw you get up to that night. Completely out of control.”

“Really? I can't remember much as to what _I_ got up to between about the 30 th to the 3rd...” Grell blinked, and then his manner changed abruptly. “B-but, if I was as bad as all that... And you still remember it... I can't live with that shame, I must-”

He lunged at a butter-knife that someone had carelessly neglected to take out of his reach at almost the same moment William did, and they wrestled over it for a moment before William managed to yank it out of Grell's grasp. As a further precaution he gathered up the rest of the offending utensils laid orderly on the table and attempted to pocket all of them. The attempt failed and he let the silverware sit in a mess on his lap instead, and once sure that they were far enough away to pose no threat or temptation he raised his eyes to meet Grell's, whose face was carefully expressionless.

“You are not going to cause a scene here. You are not going to make a mess that'll have to be reported and get yourself suspended for longer. You are not going to cause me any more frivolous hassle, understand?”

“Y-y-yes, sir... Sorry. You're more sensible than me even when you're inebriated; that's... Embarrassing.”

“What are you going to do, kill yourself? I seem to be in possession of all the cutlery.” He frowned, mostly at himself. “Don't take that as a challenge.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

He shook his head slowly. “Shame on me indeed that the day has come that Grell Sutcliff is soberer than me at a party.”

“Not by choice, I assure you.”

“What're you drinking, anyway?”

“Ronald brought me this stuff. Said it's non-alcoholic, and also _vegan_. How can a drink be vegan, I asked? He said he'd be damned if he knew, and abandoned me to go and chat up some girl.” Grell stared into the clear beverage, then picked it up and shook the glass so that it swirled. “I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing here. I mean, I like the atmosphere, and it's good to be where the action is, but I'm just lurking over here on my lonesome, aside from you. It's just a bit...” he trailed a off, waved a hand vaguely. “Why're you here sir, if I may ask? You never really look like you're enjoying these things.”

“I'm not. Hate them.”

“Why do you come, then?”

“Someone has to make sure things don't get out of hand.”

They watched morosely as a fight broke out between two trainees at the bar, the pair lashing out at each other in drunken ferocity which was only stopped when Eric Slingby broke in between them and sent them both flying. “I'll have to report that,” William muttered, feeling dejected at the mere prospect of more paperwork. “Can't be having injured juniors.”

“Someone had to break them up,” Grell pointed out. “They'd've been hurt worse if he hadn’t intervened.”

William wagged a finger in his general direction. “Wrong,” he argued. “Students these days don't have the stamina for long fights.”

“I-if you say so, sir... Um... If I may ask, sir, is there a reason you ca... came over to talk to me? N-not that I'm not enjoying the company!!” Grell waved his hands in an overly wild gesture that unfortunately caught his glass and sent the clear liquid splashing over the table. Both reapers studied the mess for a moment before Grell's guilty eyes met William's again. “I-I-I'll cl-clear this up right away, sir!”

“Don't bother, Sutcliff; you'll only make things worse. But, yes. Good call. Good reminder. I wanted to make you aware of this. This thing. This.”

He managed to extract the letters from his inner pocket with only minor difficulty, and handed them across the table to Grell, who took them with an interesting expression that was equal parts curiosity and dread. After skimming them, though, he frowned. “A month?”

“Yeah.”

“For one collection?”

“I'm glad you have reading comprehension.”

“And I'm glad you're still able to come out with retorts like that even when you're half way to being completely hammered.” Grell's gaze dropped back to the papers. “What's this cat and mouse metaphor?”

“That bastard Sneddon reckons if I'm gone you'll do something... Rash.” William stared at Grell through narrowed eyes, which he hoped made him look serious and possibly threatening. “You are not to do anything rash. You are not to misbehave whatsoever whilst I am away, or he'll have you. Take you back to his department and never let you out.”

“And he thinks that _I_ , a la- I mean, a butler, would... What? Leap at the first sign of a lack of management and turn on anyone within striking range? I must've made a bigger impression on Corrections than I thought. And this... ' _Detained worker'_ , that's referring to me?”

“Yes, Sutciff. See, you're causing me overtime even when you're not actually doing anything wrong. It's terrible.”

“Even though the night of your scheduled reap is the night I get back on the job?”

“Is it really?” William motioned for the letter to be handed back, and reread the dates. “...So it is.” He considered the news, and frowned. “They're playing games.”

“Upper management doesn't play games.”

“Hm.”

“Who's the temporary manager? I don't think I've heard of him...”

“No, you wouldn't have.” Twisting round in his seat to scan the crowds, it only took William a moment to spot the man in question and point him out. Boasting an even lower alcohol tolerance level than William – or possibly he had just consumed twice as much – Rutherford was clearly completely off his head. He seemed to have mislaid his shirt at some point over the course of the evening, and was gyrating wildly with a group of equally drunk secretaries and a few young men from Spectacles. Grell somehow managed to hitch his eyebrows up even further, and let out a quiet and regretful sigh.

“He looks like the sort of bloke I'd get along famously with, under normal circumstances,” he said morosely, then paused to give a short, sharp laugh. “Figures. The only time we get saddled with a laid-back manager I have to be stuck like _this_. Ah... Not that you're not a _good_ supervisor, I didn't mean _that_ , you're great at your job, you're just... Uh... A little harsh somet-t _im_ es... I'm going to stop talking. I'm going to stop talking and hope that you're past the point of retaining much memory in the morning of this by now.”

William gave a non-committal “Hm,” and continued drinking. Sutcliff was clearly only bitter that an opportunity would be missed – he showed no signs of temptation as to actually doing anything about it. So far so good. Grell's voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Here, should you really be having so much to drink? I... don't mean to step out of place, but if you're meant to be out and about in the mortal world tomorrow...”

“Today, Sutcliff, it's past midnight. And whilst I appreciate your concern, it is unfounded. I am not drunk.”

“Yes, you are, sir.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely are. You're going to wake up with a terrible hangover in a ditch somewhere if you're not careful.”

“I'll have you know that has never happened to me.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

“Shut up, Sutcliff.”

“...Of course, sir.”

The break in conversation managed to hold for almost a whole minute before Grell got bored of it and started fidgeting, then said, “You know... It's really weird seeing you like this and actually being able to process it coherently. I don't think I've ever been in a better state than you in these situations.”

“You do not need to rub it in, Sutcliff.”

“Right. R...ight. Sorry, sir.” He yawned suddenly and then blinked, looking surprised at himself. “I'll have to retire soon. You may have taken in enough alcohol to be unconcerned for the consequences tomorrow, but sadly _I_ have not.”

Some half-subdued corner of William's mind suggested that a snide remark pertaining to Grell's eventual actual retirement would not be out of place, but after a moment he let it go. Too much effort now. And in all honesty Sutcliff was probably right – quit whilst you're ahead and all that. He stood at almost the same moment Grell did, with almost the same lack of balance.

“Concern or not, I've finished here...” he muttered, feeling exhaustion suddenly roll over him. Ugh. “Honestly, these lights are doing my head in... Can hardly think properly with this noise.”

He vaguely registered the look of mild concern on Grell's face before the other asked, “Are you sure you'll be alright getting home? You look as though you're having trouble standing, let alone jumping.”

“I am _fine_. Perfectly, entirely and absolutely. Worry about yourself; you can't jump at all.”

“But it's only a ten minute walk to the apprentice flats.” Grell frowned. “Actually, a ten minute walk I can't make on my own. Not allowed to wander about unsupervised. Damn. Do you... think I should try and convince Ronnie to take me back?”

William followed Grell's distracted gaze and after a few seconds of searching managed to pick Knox out from the energetic crowds thronging around the bar. The boy was busy. Very popular amongst the young ladies across the departments, and currently very, very busy. “I doubt he would thank you for that.”

“Mhm.” Grell's eyes flicked nervously towards William, and then away again. “W... _Well_ , what do you suggest, sir?”

“I-? Oh. _Ohhh_ no, Sutcliff, I am not going to escort you home.” He had walked into this. He had walked _straight_ into this. And worse, it was looking more and more likely to be the most viable course of action. Grell could not go out alone and every other reaper here was far, far past the point of both helping willingly and to be trusted should anything go wrong. But he himself could barely walk. He certainly couldn't jump Grell to the flats – he wouldn't be able to jump again to return to his own home. Damn. Damn.

Grell was watching him in silence, an unreadable look in his slightly blurry eyes. It was possible that this only meant that he could not see a clear solution to the problem either. William hoped it was something so innocent, and tried to find an answer. There was none. He swayed gently on the balls of his feet, and grabbed the back of his vacated chair to steady himself.

“Fine. Fine. Fine! To the building and nothing more, Grell. I'll accompany you to the porch and then go back home immediately and see if I can miraculously awaken without a hangover.”

Grell was looking surprised again. “Really?! Sir, you don't have to... I don't want to cause you any troub-”

“There is no other way. None.” He scowled, removed his hands from the chair – balance? Balance. Good – and then jerked his head toward the door, which unfortunately seemed to up the lucid intensity of the lights and made his head spin. It was definitely time to go.

“Come on.”

Grell followed him meekly out of the crowded hall to the silent darkness outside, the dim street-lights' cast light seeming fragile and insufficient after the party's blinding intensity. Even without the influence of drink it would have been difficult to see. He stumbled once or twice, and much to his chagrin Grell caught his arm each time and steadied him before retreating to an appropriate distance. Neither tried to make conversation. They reached Grell's lodging without incident or ceremony, and it was only once Grell was on the porch did William call after him, “Remember. Nothing rash. Clean reports when I get back. One month. Get through it.”

His subordinate answered with a weak smile that he realized he would never see again, if all went well, and vanished beyond the door. William jumped away.

_Thank god that's over._

He materialized within his house, certainly, although in the kitchen rather than the bedroom as intended. Landing slightly off-kilter caused him to stagger into the nearest wall and he swore violently before righting himself and attempting to make his way to bed. _Ow._ Turning lights on might have been a good idea. It was too late. Everything was too much effort.

_Alcohol was a terrible mistake. Well done._

Bed. Bed. There it was. Thank goodness for the promised... oh, four hours of sleep at least. And then straight out into the field with nothing more than a death list and a hangover. Great. Great.

William curled up on the mattress, having failed to remove his clothes, shoes or glasses, and slept.

 


	6. One Month

The headache was the most notable part of the morning, and rather blotted out all lesser feelings. There was one horrible moment where he thought he had lost his glasses only to find them halfway down the bed (thankfully intact), but aside from that everything was a haze of groggy pain and discomfort. He showered and found himself actually relieved that he wouldn't have to file paperwork today.

Food. Food might help him feel better. It was a fragile hope, as it had never seemed to help him before, but logic decreed that even if it didn't clear his head or stomach at all it would still be wise to eat something before heading out. Unless it caused him to throw up. But the benefits outweighed the risks and he cooked and ate breakfast regardless. It tasted almost as bad as his mouth had anyway earlier when he had woken up.

_Why did you do this to yourself? You know your limits; hell, you didn't even have to have ANY alcohol last night. Could have just talked to Sutcliff and then left. You're an idiot, William T Spears._

He was inclined to agree with himself, as he did every year. Alcohol? Bad. Parties? Very Bad. Just don't go. But that was easier said than done. Ugh.

Get dressed properly. _Ugh_. Wash face, again, because it still feels gross. _Ugh_. Fail to return to the warm comfort of sleep; instead, check that the windows are closed, that the back doors are locked.

_Ugh._

Fill the bird feeders, even though there's no way they'll last a month. It was a good thing he didn't keep house plants; getting someone to come round and water them would be difficult. Trusting someone to do so even more so. The air outside was cold, and he regretted stepping outside without another jacket.

One _month_ of field work.

One month of cold nights, away from his own home and even his own realm. One month amongst _mortals_. One month to be spent sifting through the grime of London's streets to remedy someone else's mistake. One month of non-control over the office. One month of no paperwork. One whole month of not having to put up with Sutcliff, in any way, shape or form.

One month of something comparable to freedom. Or a lack of the usual responsibilities, at least.

Hm.

It would be a difficult task, of course. Reaping that many souls in one sitting did not promise an easy objective, and actually finding them even less so; but he would get there. He would do it, and do it well, and return home in a month to find things as they should be.

Yes. That sounded right.

William turned the key in his door and gave the silent area one last sweeping glance before he jumped away, out into the mortal realm.

One month of silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "one month of silence" muses William and then joins a bloody circus what an absolute dolt
> 
> But yes, there you go! One very underwhelming ending. I am sorry. I hope the story as a whole was enjoyable. If not... Well, I apologize for dragging you through 17 thousand words of drivel.
> 
> That's all for now, folks. I hope you have a great day.


End file.
